Ripped Free from the Cold, Hard Ground
by NefarioussNess
Summary: Four years after the Rising the former zombies, aka PDS sufferers, are beginning to reintegrate back into society. Allison and Stiles have been recently released from Eichen House and sent back into a world where their kind are still hated and feared. They're both living in Beacon Hills, a town where the dead had originally risen from... An "In The Flesh" AU.
1. Chapter 1

Allison didn't remember much during her time in her "untreated state". It'd been more of a blur of screaming people. She remembered the squelch of blood beneath her feet and in her hands as her teeth clamped down on her victims' skin and tore it away from the hard, white bone. She vaguely recalled guns being waved in her face; the fingers attached to them were too shaky and stunned to even pull the trigger. She'd reveled in their hesitation and had relished the warmth of their flesh as it'd settled in her stomach.

Allison assumed that they'd been warm when they'd died; it was hard to tell now that her five senses had become obsolete.

She was beginning to feel genuine emotions again, but most of them had been overridden with a crushing guilt.

The treatment centre that she'd been assigned to was called Eichen House, a miserable little place where the doctors treated you like violent porcelain, at best. Dr. Brunski didn't hesitate to use force when patients became too rowdy, believing that the neurotriptyline dosage had been too small or ineffective. She'd befriended one particular patient that had gone out of his way to infuriate Brunski, just to test his patience. The boy had used to crack morbid jokes during group therapy, laughing about how 'a little bit of government funding turned monsters into mental cases'.

Allison hadn't seen Stiles Stilinski for four months now. His father had come to collect him one afternoon once Stiles had been deemed 'cured enough' to reintegrate back into society. Stiles's father was the Sheriff of the county that Eichen House resided in called Beacon Hills. Allison had watched the family reunion from her room's window high above, and her heart had squeezed in longing when the Sheriff hugged his son like he never wanted to let go. She turned away once he'd led Stiles away from the courtyard and to his cruiser parked outside of the gates.

Stiles had been her only friend while in Eichen House. He'd been the only one to distract her from the constant evaluations, injections, and repetitious group therapy with his wild stories and outrageous plans for the future.

"When we both get out of here we'll show the world who's boss," Stiles had said before kissing her on the cheek.

* * *

"I don't think I'm ready," Allison confessed. Dr. Deaton had just finished the last check-up that she'd ever get from him and was pulling small, marked boxes out of the cupboard above the sterile sink.

Dr. Deaton glanced over at her and gave her a warm, reassuring smile. He was the only doctor in Eichen House that had legitimately cared about rehabilitating the PDS sufferers from their "untreated state" and helping them return to the outside world.

"But you've made tremendous progress within the past six months," he reminded her. He held up two boxes, shaking them a little. "Blue or brown?"

"Umm, brown," Allison replied. Dr. Deaton handed her a box of contact lenses and another box containing make-up to cover up her ghoulishly pale skin. He'd told her earlier that she'd need to apply the make-up every day and take it off at night, same with the contacts. If Allison had been going home with someone other than her parents, she wouldn't have bothered applying the stuff onto herself. She knew _why_ it had to be done; there were a lot of people out there who remembered the Rising and what her kind had done to this country.

It didn't mean that she had to like it.

Dr. Deaton had on the stool across from her. "Why do you think you're not ready?"

"I'm mentally, physically and medically prepared," Allison amended. She looked down at her hands, still deathly white without the make-up. "I've been on my best behavior to make up for—for what I did in my untreated state. I showed this by helping keep my fellow sufferers in line and maintaining the peace. It's just…" She felt tears forming in her eyes. At the doctor's reassuring smile, she continued. "I'm not _emotionally_ prepared to face my parents, that's all."

Contact from outside had been extremely limited, but rumors had seeped in through the walls regardless. Stiles had consumed every scrap of information that he could sink his teeth into and had relayed all of it to Allison. She was aware of the Human Volunteer Force, or HVF for short. Her estranged grandfather, Gerard Argent, had organized one in her former hometown of Fossil, Oregon, ruthlessly slaughtering anyone with decaying flesh and sluggish movements. From what she'd heard the members of the HVF were steadfastly opposed to the very notion of the reintegration of PDS sufferers. She wasn't sure if Chris and Victoria had been part of their crusade, but she wasn't feeling confident that they'd be welcoming of her return.

"They'd readily agreed to take you in and help you with your reintegration back into civil society," Dr. Deaton said. "They've informed us that they'd relocated to Beacon Hills where nobody is aware of your existence. If you keep up the façade and apply your make-up daily then it should be easier to rejoin the world.

"That level of dedication shouldn't be thoughtlessly shoved aside," Dr. Deaton added. "A lot of care had been prepared on their part."

"But are they going to see past the monster that killed hundreds of people?" Allison asked angrily. "Did they say that they were active in the HVF before finding out that I was here—?"

Dr. Deaton shook his head, looking worried about how she knew about such things. It wasn't healthy for the patients to hear about the negative reactions regarding their existence. "It wasn't my place to ask," he said carefully. Allison sighed, feeling annoyed about the vagueness of his words. She needed to know if she was going to be welcomed back or seen as a nuisance that they had to hide in their home.

"Wait," she said, realizing something. "You said that they moved to Beacon Hills?"

"It's the closest town to us," Dr. Deaton said. "And yes they have. I'm fully aware of the relationship that you and Mr. Stilinski have started here." As Allison hopped off the examination table the doctor turned to her one last time. "Think of it this way; you can start over in Beacon Hills, both you and your parents. You already have a fellow sufferer to relate to, so go from there and see what happens." He flashed her another warm smile before calling in the next patient. Allison nodded, clutching her boxes of supplies as she left his office for the last time.

* * *

Her parents would be arriving that afternoon. Allison's nerves were bundled up deep inside of her, twisting in her stomach. Chris and Victoria had sent her the clothes she was now wearing, the tags still attached to them. Allison realized with a sinking feeling that they'd given away all of her old clothing to charity after she'd died. They were the masters of compartmentalizing their emotions, even while she'd been alive.

Why keep clothes for a corpse rotting in the ground? Allison sighed; why did her parents have to be so clinically practical?

She applied the flesh-toned make-up a little too thickly and had to try many times to get the contacts into her eyes. Allison had to look perfect and in total control; a first impression would be vital to garner her mother and father's approval. Once she was in Beacon Hills she would find Stiles and together they could figure out what to do next with their eternal lives.

Stiles had jokingly suggested getting married; did the same rules regarding matrimony apply to PDS sufferers? It didn't matter one way or the other; she and Stiles would elope, wearing flower crowns and all. Allison had discovered the ability to knit and sew alongside him during 'relaxation time' at Eichen House.

After a long minute of readjusting her clothes Allison took a step back and examined herself in the mirror. Her make-up looked unnatural and gave her complexion a weird, orange glow. She knew it was cheap; they had to supply hundreds of PDS sufferers with it, after all. She ran her fingers through her hair one last time and deemed her appearance satisfying enough.

Dr. Brunski was standing outside in the hallway. He shoved a plastic garbage bag into Allison's hands. It contained all of the worldly possessions that she'd garnered during her stay there, including her and Stiles's knitting projects.

"Move it," Brunski said brusquely, pushing Allison down the hallway. Allison would've retaliated with a bad joke if she hadn't felt so unsettled. Chris and Victoria were going to be at the bottom of the stairs, waiting to take her to her new home.

"Don't be a burden to that family of yours," Brunski jeered. "Good, living folks like them don't deserve the chore that you're going to be."

"Same to you," Allison said. "The PDS sufferers don't need to spend the rest of eternity staring at your stupid face." She smirked a little at Brunski's angry spluttering.

"Fucking rotter," he muttered as he shoved her through a door and closed it shut.

Allison looked around, taking in her new environment. It was the hallway that led to the front doors of Eichen House. She stood there, clutching her boxes and bag, wondering when her parents would show up.

She didn't have to wait long. Allison heard the clacking of her mother's heels before she saw her.

Victoria Argent looked the same as ever: her hair was cropped short and she wore a grey pantsuit that was crisp and clean. Her posture was stiff, regal even. She stopped in her tracks and stood ten feet away from her daughter. Her face betrayed little emotion as she looked Allison over, taking in the overdone make-up and the lumpy white sweater that she'd sent her.

"So you're back," she said stiffly.

"Where's Dad?" Allison asked. It was the first words that she'd said to her mother in over four years.

"In the car," Victoria said. "Come now, we have to head back while it's still dark out." She turned on her heel and began to walk down the hallway. The click-clack of her heels echoed off of the walls.

Allison was expecting this cold response to her return but it didn't stop the tears from welling up in her eyes. She dabbed them away, conscious of the contacts hiding her condition beneath them. She ran to catch up to Victoria, leaving a wealth of space between them. She hoped that her mother would narrow the gap and walk next to her.

She never did.


	2. Chapter 2

The drive itself hadn't been terribly long, but the uncomfortable silence in the car had stretched it taut. Allison sat in the back seat, her boxes and bag piled up next to her. Her father had barely looked at her as they pulled away and got back onto the road. There was nothing to break the quiet tension, not even the radio.

Allison tried not to think about going home and instead focused on her plan on finding Stiles. Locating the police station would be her safest bet; the deputies there should be able to point her in the right direction. Soon they'd be reunited.

Roadblocks were set up along the edge of town, nearly obscuring the sign that said, 'Welcome to Beacon Hills.' A few men with guns were patrolling the border. They gave the Argent's car a suspicious look before going back to their duty of aimlessly walking back and forth. Nobody stopped them or asked them to pull over.

Victoria stared straight ahead, sitting as stiff as a rod. Chris adjusted slightly in his seat as he pulled onto the main street. Allison looked out her window and only saw an empty street with rotting garbage clumped together on the sidewalk. Broken windows had been boarded up with planks of wood and tarps covered doorways, keeping the rain out. Allison could hear it pitter-pattering on the roof of the car. The world had grown black as night took over, making it difficult to see anything without the aid of the streetlights.

"We're here," Chris said as he pulled into a driveway several streets later. It was the first words he'd said since Allison had gotten into the car.

Allison peered out the window and stared at the house. It was smaller than the one that they had in Fossil, but it was in better condition than most of the ones she saw as they'd drove by. It was made up of worn-down brick and the roof was peppered with sturdy-looking shingles. The lawn was unkempt, but Allison knew that would change once they were properly settled in. She wondered if her parents would allow her to help with the yard work.

It couldn't be that dangerous for her to be outside—none of her neighbors knew about her 'condition'. As long as she kept up the façade of being alive, she should be okay.

"Grab your things," Victoria said coldly. Allison quietly obeyed.

Her parents had been in the midst of unpacking when they'd went to collect her from Eichen House; boxes had been opened up and its contents were neatly placed on shelves and the table in the kitchen. Allison glanced at them briefly before Chris silently led her to her bedroom. It was small, containing only a bed and a nightstand. Cream-colored bed sheets and a pillow had been folded and stacked on top of the bed, as if waiting for her to use them. If there was one human-like thing that Allison still did it was sleep. She sometimes dreamed, though the dreams themselves weren't pleasant.

Chris stood by the door, his hands hanging awkwardly at his sides. Allison turned away from him and placed her boxes of contacts and neurotriptyline on her nightstand.

"Your mother has always had a problem displaying her… affections," he said. Allison kept her back to him, hearing him shuffle nervously behind her. "The Rising gave her focus on what was important, of understanding the value of a human life. Seeing you alive—"

"Partially," Allison reminded him wearily.

"Partially alive," Chris agreed. "Well, it's confusing to her. She's used to being so set in her way of thinking that having you back is throwing her off."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Allison asked quietly. There was no real venom in her words, only resignation to the truth. When she'd been alive she remembered Victoria taking changes in her life with teeth-clenched acceptance, nothing more or less. Allison's PDS would be another one of those annoying changes that her mother would have to accommodate to.

"I don't know," Chris said. "We're still trying to understand the situation here. Over a year ago the government told us to stop hunting and begin capturing for the medical treatment that your kind would be receiving. We didn't know whether or not you were killed, so we just… moved on. Getting that call from Eichen House changed everything."

Allison didn't want to hear any more of it. She was tired and she wanted to cry. _Your kind,_ he'd said. She was another species to him. Something less than human. There'd been no hesitance in his voice when he'd said that.

The gap between them widened a little more. Allison had never felt more alone in her life.

_Find Stiles,_ she reminded herself. _Once I find Stiles we can figure out what to do next._

Once Chris had left the room Allison went over to the tiny closet and opened it up. There were more clothes in here with the tags left on. They're been hurriedly bought at a discount store and were simple, bland colors. Allison noticed a small, grubby box shoved into the corner and pulled it out. She opened it up and was surprised to find all of her old journals in it.

Before she'd died Allison had gone through a poetry phase that had ended in frustration and tears. She'd recorded all of her failed attempts within her journals and had never told her parents what they'd contained. She flipped through a few of them, vaguely wondering if Chris and Victoria had actually read them.

At the bottom of the box was an envelope. It said 'To Allison' in her father's clunky cursive. She shoved it back in with the rest of the journals and placed it back into the closet. "Not tonight," she whispered. There was only so much that she could take in one sitting.

* * *

Allison had slept fitfully that night. Her dreams consisted of blood frothing from people's mouths as they screamed to death and cried for mercy. The chunks of their flesh was tasteless, but Allison kept consuming them, her rotted nails sinking down in the bone to keep them steady as she ate and ate and ate.

She woke up gasping, the sweat beading her face and neck. Allison wiped it away with the back of her hand. It was white and trembling.

The room was dark, with only the moon outside illuminating shadows through the window. It wasn't dawn, not just yet, but Allison couldn't bother to go back to sleep. She grabbed the box containing the make-up and quietly made her way to the bathroom.

She carefully washed her face and stared at her reflection. The veins were prominent, pulsing blue under the milky-white skin. Her eyes used to be a dark brown, but now they were a pearly, gray color that made them look wider and otherworldly. She wouldn't be able to pass them off as Halloween contacts, not when the world feared… no, _loathed_ her kind.

_Fear and Loathing in Beacon Hills, _Allison thought bitterly. Stiles would've smirked at the joke.

Applying the make-up was quickly becoming second nature but poking the contacts onto her eyes was still unnerving. She kept blinking too much and her eyes watered until she could push them in. Allison looked into the mirror to survey the results. The flesh-toned make-up was still too thick on her skin, but at least her skin looked more natural.

"You can do this," she said to herself.

* * *

Victoria was already in the kitchen making breakfast when Allison made her way downstairs. Her mother kept her back turned to her and remained insanely focused on the task at hand. She was whisking eggs in a bowl before pouring the yellow mixture into the frying pan.

Allison sat down at the table, unsure of what to do. According to the doctors at Eichen House the PDS sufferers were essentially immortal, as long as they took their neurotriptyline each day and weren't killed by an angry lynch mob.

Eternity was still an abstract idea to her. What would she do with all of that time? Where would she go? Allison didn't expect her parents to be her caretakers for the rest of their lives, so when would be the best time to leave? Victoria was still pretending that she wasn't there in the kitchen, so it's not like they were getting attached to her at the moment.

"Where's Dad?" Allison asked.

"He's doing a job," Victoria answered crisply. "He'll be back in an hour."

Allison nodded. She suddenly remembered the neurotriptyline waiting for her upstairs. She wanted to ask Victoria to help her with the injection, but couldn't bring herself to do it. She was terrified of her mother's reaction to the added 'burden' of her being home.

"Okay," Allison said. She got up and headed back upstairs. Victoria barely moved as she passed by.

Allison hated the syringe and the sickly green color of the drug, but it was necessary to in order to keep her brain on 'human mode' and prevent her from rotting away. She and Stiles had promised to help each other with the daily injections once they'd both been sprung from Eichen House.

Getting the angle right was tricky, but Allison managed to insert the tip of the syringe into the small, black hole on the back of her neck, where it neighbored with her spinal cord. She scrunched her eyes and winced from the pain as she pulled the trigger.

Of course she would still feel that type of intense pain, but at least she was feeling _something._

"Stop being so melodramatic," Allison muttered to herself. She placed the syringe back into its case. There were enough neurotriptyline bottles to last her up to six months, so she wasn't worried about getting low on her medication.

She heard the doorbell ring from downstairs and her mother answering it. Allison didn't move until she heard Victoria's voice rise angrily before slamming the door shut.

"Allison!" Victoria shouted from the foot of the stairs. "Get down here!"

Allison's shoulders sagged. She'd just gotten back and already she was in trouble.

Victoria ushered her into the living room where a young woman with straight black hair and dark skin was sitting on the couch. She flashed Allison a reassuring smile. Beside her was a hard, plastic case that said 'PDS community care'. Allison could see why Victoria had sounded so angry before; what would the neighbors think if they saw the community care officer visiting their home? Her condition was supposed to be a secret.

"Hello Allison," said the woman as Allison sat next to her. "My name is Marin Morrell and I'm in charge of assisting you and other PDS sufferers reintegrating into the community."

"Hi," Allison said nervously.

Victoria crossed her arms, glaring at Marin. "What purpose do you have barging into my house?"

Marin smoothed out her skirt, keeping her focus firmly on Allison. "The first visit from the community care officer is mandatory," she informed them. "After that I'll be available for further questions regarding your supply of neurotriptyline and any other concerns that you might have. I'm also here to show the caretakers of the PDS sufferers how to administer their daily medication and offer free registration to the support group located in town."

Victoria's eyes narrowed. "We don't need your charity. We're not incompetent."

"I never said you were," Marin replied calmly. "It's just standard procedure. The neurotriptyline will help stimulate the brain and keep it active enough so that Allison doesn't regress back into her former, untreated state."

"With all of that money our government poured into this project you'd think they'd come up with a permanent solution to this problem," Victoria hissed.

"Tests are still on-going, but right now the daily doses are the most efficient way of retaining healthy brain activity."

"I already know how to inject myself," Allison said quickly. Marin seemed to be very nice and non-accusatory so Allison hated how poorly she was being treated by her mother.

Marin gave her a curious look. "You've done it before." It wasn't a question.

Allison nodded, trying to ignore the suspicious look on Victoria's face. "Yeah, me and my friend back at Eichen House used to practice with empty ones. Dr. Deaton gave them to us," she quickly added. "He said that it'd be wise for us to be self-sufficient, in case we're alone and need to administer the doses."

"That was something beyond his pay grade," Marin mused. "But I'm glad that he chose to teach you."

"Are you done here?" Victoria said brusquely. She waved an impatient hand at Allison. "She clearly knows how to do this herself, so there's no need for you to be here any longer."

Marin was a smart woman, Allison could tell. She knew when she wasn't wanted. "I'll be going to my next appointment then," she said carefully. Marin stood up and held out her hand to shake. Victoria just narrowed her eyes, keeping her arms folded across her chest.

"I'll leave my card with you," Marin said as if that awkward moment hadn't just happened. She pulled it out of her pocket and handed it to Allison. "Let me know if you need anything. My phone's on me at all times."

"Wait," Allison said. She stood up as well, ignoring the glare that her mother was shooting at her. "Do you know Stiles Stilinski?"

Marin paused. "You knew him?"

"From Eichen House, yeah," Allison explained. "I know he lives here in town with his dad and I was hoping that you could—"

"Ms. Morrell, I must insist that you leave my house before my husband gets home," Victoria interrupted. She shook her head curtly at Allison.

Allison escorted Marin to the front door with Victoria close behind them. Once they were there Allison tried asking again. Marin was the community care officer, so that must mean that she had the addresses of all of the PDS sufferers in Beacon Hills. It would cut her search time by ninety-nine percent if she told Allison where he lived.

"I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to," Marin said. "I'm sorry, but it's for confidentiality reasons. It's my duty to protect the privacy of my clients.

Allison felt crushed. She watched Marin go out the front door before Victoria slammed it shut and bolted the lock across. "Nosy woman," she muttered before going back into the kitchen. She didn't even bother to look at Allison as she did so.

Back in her room Allison pulled out her box of journals and found the most recent one. Her last entry had been written two days before her death. She quickly scanned the pages and decided that some of the poetry in it was decent enough to share with others.

Once her parents were out of the house she could make her escape.


	3. Chapter 3

It turned out that Chris and Victoria had worked out a schedule when it came to the house. Their shifts at their respective jobs always occurred when the other one ended, meaning that there was always somebody at the house with Allison. They didn't let her leave, muttering something about it being 'too dangerous', which was code for 'we don't want to expose our dirty little secret.'

It wasn't like they were trying to spend time with her and reconnect or anything. Chris would usually be in the garage, looking over his stock of guns. He'd check the clips and clean the different parts, a calm routine that he'd mastered during the Rising. Before everything had went to hell her father had sold firearms to the local law enforcement. Her mother had been a teacher at the high school. Allison wasn't sure if that was still her profession; she'd been too afraid to ask.

Allison was bored; she wanted to get out of the house and it didn't make sense why she wasn't allowed to leave. (She'd finished the rest of her and Stiles's knitting projects and only stopped once she'd run out of wool to use. Allison didn't want to ask her parents to buy her more but without wool she couldn't finish one of the sweaters, so she was stuck with a half-finished garment.) The whole point about moving to Beacon Hills was that nobody knew the Argents; it was supposed to be a fresh start.

Was Stiles allowed to leave his house? His dad was the Sheriff and from what Allison had witnessed four months ago he loved his son dearly. He had to be pro-PDS at the very least.

The idea comforted her a little. Now she just had to sneak out of the house when her parents were distracted.

The opportunity to do so came two weeks after Marin's house call. Victoria and Chris had been invited to dinner that evening, their hosts being members of the local HVF branch. It was unsettling how her parents accepted their invitation so casually, as if the neighbors hadn't slaughtered countless PDS sufferers during the Rising.

But now it was her chance to get out. Allison wore the darkest clothes she owned to blend in with the nighttime darkness. Earlier that day she'd quickly printed off directions to the police station when Chris had been in the garage and was now holding the piece of paper in her hand. She'd applied her make-up on, careful to make it took as natural as possible. Once her parents had locked the front door behind them she waited ten minutes to wait sure that they were gone. Their dinner party was on the other side of town, but the police station was closer to their house. She should be able to get back home in time before Chris and Victoria realized that she had been gone.

After bringing the ladder out into the backyard and locking up the doors Allison went back inside. Her backpack was on her bed, filled with the knitted items and the journal that she wanted to share with Stiles. She went through her bedroom window, jumping out and rolling into the neatly trimmed lawn below, feeling the adrenaline pump through her veins. Allison looked around; the sun had set moments before, tingeing the sky with a beautiful orange hue. She'd debated earlier on whether or not to use the back door, but since her parents hadn't trusted her enough to have her own key she had to settle with the old-fashioned method of escaping her house. Allison would have to use the ladder to get inside later on.

Allison had memorized the directions and set off immediately for the station. She ducked her head whenever a car passed, and panic rose in her chest. What if her parents came home early? What if they noticed that the ladder wasn't in the garage?

She walked a bit faster, hoping to pass herself off as a jogger rather than a guilt-ridden rotter. Dr. Brunski had reveled in calling her and the other patients that hateful term whenever the other doctors weren't around to chastise him for it. There was no doubt in Allison's mind that that very word would be popping up frequently during that HVF dinner. Victoria might even be relieved to find others disgusted by her daughter's kind as much as she was.

Allison looked up and relief bloomed in her chest. The police station was now just up ahead, its front lights glowing a dull yellow. She slowed her pace, wanting to walk in as casually as possible.

The front lobby was empty except for a tired-looking secretary typing away on a computer. Allison walked up to her desk, her stomach twisting with nerves. She was suddenly conscious of the thin layer of make-up hiding her condition. What if it wasn't enough? "Hi," Allison said. She was here, so no more time for regrets.

The secretary looked up. She gave Allison a weary smile. "How can I help you tonight, sweetheart?"

Allison's heart pounded; she felt like her whole body was vibrated with fear and excitement. "Is the Sheriff in? I need to talk to him."

The secretary frowned. "Why do you need him specifically? We have some deputies here that can hel—"

"I need to see his son," Allison said quickly. "Stiles Stilinski?"

The secretary's face changed from confusion to a blank stare and finally to resigned acceptance. "Please take a seat over there, Miss…?"

"Ally," Allison replied. She didn't dare give the woman her full name, in case someone put two-and-two together and figure out the secret that the new family in town had been hiding. Besides, Stiles would understand the nickname; he loved calling her 'Ally A' back at Eichen House.

The secretary nodded and dialed a number into the phone at her desk. Allison sat down in one of the under-stuffed chairs, clutching her backpack to her chest. The secretary kept shooting her nervous glances as she spoke quietly into the receiver. After several minutes she hung up and took her attention back to Allison.

"The Sheriff will be here in a few minutes," she told Allison. "He's just coming back from a patrol."

"Okay."

With each passing minute Allison grew more and more anxious. She kept glancing over at the clock, praying that the sheriff would get here faster. Her parents weren't one to overstay their welcome when they were guests, so they'd only be gone for a couple hours at the most.

This'd be a terrible, risky idea.

She tried reassuring herself that it'll all be worth it in the end. Allison ached for friendship and Stiles had been the only other PDS sufferer that had tried to connect with her. Being isolated in her parents' house was agonizing and lonely; she'd rather be back at Eichen House at this point. At least when she was there the people in charge were blatantly honest about how they felt about the dead returning to life.

It was then that an older, tired-looking man in uniform marched through the front doors. There was a gun in his holster, its safety turned off, and a battered badge was clipped to the front of his shirt. He had to be the Sheriff, Stiles's father.

Allison watched him tentatively as he approached the secretary and talked to her in hushed tones. Allison could only catch snatches of words, but it sounded like they were talking about her.

"So she's—?"

"—yes, she was asking for—"

"—handle it, don't worry."

The Sheriff looked over at Allison, nodding at her in a firm manner. Allison nodded back, trying not to flinch as he suddenly walked over to her. She stood up, holding her backpack in her arms.

"So you're… Stiles's friend?" he asked warily. Allison nodded, noticing how his hand brushed over his holster. She swallowed nervously.

"We met… somewhere else," she replied. "Is this a bad place to talk about it?"

The Sheriff sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Yes, well no. We should talk about this somewhere private." He gestured at a door that obviously led to his office.

Allison nodded in agreement. She had so much she wanted to discuss.

* * *

Sheriff Stilinski was a solidly built man in his mid-fifties with dirty-blonde hair that was slowly turning gray. His eyes were lighter than Stiles's (Stiles had once said that his eyes had been an amber color, like his mother's) and he was broader in the shoulders whereas Stiles had a lankier frame, making Allison wonder if her friend had inherited any physical traits from his father at all.

"Where did you meet my son?" the Sheriff asked, as if he didn't already know the answer.

"Eichen House," Allison said. "He was brought in before me, but he kept misbehaving so the doctors kept him there longer. If he didn't then we would've never become friends.

"We met during relaxation time. He was getting frustrated trying to knit a sweater." She smiled faintly at the memory. Stiles had been sitting in the corner, chewing on his lower lip as he fiddled with the knitting needles and finally threw them and the wool down on the ground, cursing about how pointless the whole project was. Allison had been nearby working on a scarf and had walked over to him, offering to help untangle the wool and start over. Stiles had been on the verge of tears, mumbling something about wanting to 'make it a surprise' but had relinquished the sweater to her. After a long afternoon of clacking needles and trading stories, the two of them had become as thick as thieves.

They'd hung out at every possible moment whether it was relaxation time or in between their check-ups with Dr. Deaton. During group therapy they'd sat next to each other, rolling their eyes at the irritating questions the doctors would ask in that patronizing tone. They tried to explore the older parts of the building, but were soon caught by an explosive Dr. Brunski, who beat Stiles senseless until the other doctors pulled him off. Dr. Brunski was convinced that they were up to no good and shot them suspicious looks every time he saw them afterwards. Stiles would egg him on at times, but Allison always made sure to rein him back in before he could get hurt. "It doesn't matter, Ally A," Stiles had said. "I can't feel a damn thing. I'm invincible!"

Allison recounted all of these experiences to the Sheriff, who nodded every so often. His shoulders sagged slightly, and she took it as a sign that he believed her.

"When Dr. Deaton told me that my family was relocating to Beacon Hills I couldn't be happier," Allison said. "I've always had a hard time connecting with my parents but ever since I 'came back' it's been even worse. I just wanted to be with someone who understood what I was going through."

Sheriff Stilinski nodded. "Stiles has been quiet since he came home. He's been having a hard time, well, adjusting." He sighed, running one of his hands over his face. "Some things happened during the Rising that he's trying to come to grips with, but when he does talk to me it's always about you and what you two did in that damn place."

Allison couldn't help but smile a little. Her friend hadn't forgotten about her.

On the other hand she was concerned about what his father had said, about Stiles being 'quiet.' Allison couldn't imagine Stiles being anything but talkative and bursting with sarcastic energy. She wanted to know what happened during those four months when they'd been separated. Reuniting with him was more important than ever.

"Where is he now?" Allison asked.

The Sheriff stared at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You're awfully keen on finding him."

"Yes, because I haven't seen him in _months_," Allison said. An hour must've gone by at this point; her parents could be home right now, wondering why the house was empty. Time was running short and she needed to know where Stiles was. His father was the only one who could tell her since Marin had been unhelpful. Right now Sheriff Stilinski was giving her that suspicious look that made her feel guilty for some reason.

"After everything he's gone through, he doesn't need more disappointment," he said. He sighed, sounding more tired than he did before. "I'm a cop first and foremost. Even though everything you've told me is exactly how he'd described Eichen House it still isn't enough to prove that you're who you say you are. I can't just give you our address without confirming with him that it's okay for him to be found. Do you understand?"

Allison was suddenly getting it. PDS sufferers were hated right now, and the Sheriff was a father to one. Anyone that knew about Stiles's condition would try and target him. Allison seemed too eager to find him, which made her look incredibly suspicious. "I understand," she said miserably.

"Good." The Sheriff stood up, signaling that the conversation was done. Allison followed suit, her final hope crushed. The only possible way for her to find Stiles was to attend the support group, but how could she sneak out of the house during broad daylight? Victoria would have a fit.

"Can you give him this at least?" Allison asked, holding out her backpack to him. Sheriff Stilinski eyed it for a moment before reluctantly taking it from her.

"What's this?"

"Some stuff that I want him to have," Allison replied.

The Sheriff nodded. "I'll make sure he gets it then."

* * *

Allison had managed to race back home after that, just barely managing to climb into her bedroom window, retrieve the ladder from the backyard and place it back into the garage before her parents returned five minutes later. Allison hid in her room under her covers, keeping the door ajar in order to hear them. She was curious about what they had to discuss with their HVF dinner hosts.

"They're just as trigger-happy as Gerard!" she heard Victoria snap.

"Vic…"

"No, this is unacceptable! We traded one set of madmen for another! It's as if they cloned your family and planted them in this town, just waiting for people like Allison to arrive!"

Allison heard her parents move towards the kitchen and the sound of a cork popping soon afterwards.

Chris sighed. "They are _nothing_ like Gerard. They haven't been sniffing around our doorstep, trying to see if we're hiding a PDS sufferer—"

"They're going to find out soon enough! Moving one state over wasn't enough and the Argent name is infamous—"

"Vic, it'll be okay." Allison could hear the shuffle of clothing; they must be holding each other now. She hoped they were; Chris and Victoria Argent didn't show traditional affection to one another like most married couples. A hug was considered to be anal sex to them.

"The Rising made all of them forget their morality code, Chris. I don't need that showing up in my house, waving guns and ordering us around, pretending that it's for our 'safety'!

"He's not coming here," Chris promised so softly that Allison had almost missed it. "We never told him where we were going, remember?"

"He'll put Kate up to it to make sure that Allison stays dead," Victoria hissed out.

"They'll never find her."

That was the end to that particular conversation. There was more shuffling around in the kitchen and Allison heard the _tink_ing of wine glasses being placed on the counter top.

"We should let her join that support group," Chris said after a while. "She already knows Stilinski's kid. It'll be good for her to have a stable connection to the law enforcement in this town."

"I'll think about it," was all Victoria said. Allison didn't hear anything else after that because she was trying so hard to muffle her sobs of relief.


	4. Chapter 4

Not much happened for the next three days, but Allison could tell that Chris's words were on Victoria's mind. She cleaned the house from top to bottom twice, silently and efficiently, barely making a sound. She avoided Allison's room as if it were just an empty void in the middle of the hallway.

Chris wasn't much better, but at least he wasn't avoiding eye contact with his daughter as much as he did the first week. Once, when Allison went into the bathroom to apply her daily make-up and contacts she came back to her room and found a brown paper bag on her bed. Inside were new journals and a pack of ballpoint pens. There was no card, no indication that it'd been a gift, but Allison appreciated it all the same. She hid away in her room while Victoria barreled through her cleaning binge and wrote endlessly. She needed to sort out her thoughts about coming back to life, her time in Eichen House and returning to a cold, loveless home. Allison wanted to know how other PDS sufferers were faring in their private lives and hoped that she was the worst one off. She couldn't imagine what it must be like for those whose families outright hated them.

All she needed now was the perfect time to ask about the support group. Victoria was considering it but she'd wouldn't agree to it unless it was one hundred percent _her_ idea. Allison just had to phrase the question in a way to make it seem like it was.

It turned out that in the end Allison didn't have to say a peep. On the fourth day Victoria knocked briskly on her bedroom door. Allison looked up, surprised that she had a visitor, even if it was her own family. "Come in!" she said, her tone falsely bright.

Victoria opened the door, frowning at the 'state' of the room. Allison's balls of wool (Chris had given her another silent gift just yesterday) were piled next to the foot of her bed but other than that the room was spotless.

Her mother stood stiffly by the doorjamb, her arms folded across her chest. She stared at a spot just over Allison's shoulder. "It's not healthy to be holing up in this room all day," she said coldly. "You're going to go to that support group that that woman mentioned. I contacted her and had the forms filled. It starts in one hour. Get ready." Victoria turned on her heel and left.

Allison stared at the doorway, unable to believe what'd just happened. Her face broke into a grin; Victoria was finally giving her some leeway, even though she made it sound like some punishment. Allison would take what she could get.

Within half an hour they were in the car with Victoria behind the wheel, driving to one of the more vacant streets. The buildings were mostly empty and the street bare of any parked cars. Victoria pulled up in front of a whitewashed office building that looked like it could use a little TLC. Victoria kept looking straight ahead, the engine still going.

"The meeting ends at five," she said. "I will be picking you up at five fifteen, so don't wander off. I've also signed you up for some other classes that happen on other days of the week."

"Why?" Allison asked.

"It'll be suspicious for you to only be there the day that your support group has a meeting," Victoria said. "I got the pamphlets back at the house for you to look over when you come home. Now go in. It's on the third floor." Allison had barely closed the door behind her before Victoria reversed the car and drove away.

Heart pounding wildly in her chest, Allison walked up to the front door and pulled it open. The ground floor's lobby was cleaner than the sidewalk outside, but only just enough to be habitable. Dust bunnies were collecting in the corners and the wallpaper was yellowing and peeling slightly. The elevator wasn't working so Allison resigned herself to using the stairs. They were narrow and cluttering with bits of debris, but she finally made her way to the proper floor and room. She hesitated before opening the door.

Marin was sitting in a circle of chairs, her clipboard resting on her lap. Besides her there were four other people occupying the chairs. Three of them looked to be around Allison's age (well, the age that she died at, anyway) and a young woman with strawberry hair and green eyes.

Allison stared at her, confusion settling in. It was her eyes that threw her off; none of the facilities offered green contacts, only blue or brown. The woman must've noticed her staring at her because she said, "Are you going to stand there and gawk at me too?"

Marin spoke up before Allison could answer. "I'm glad that you're finally joining us, Allison," she said warmly. She gestured at one of the two empty chairs. "We're ready to start if you are."

"Uh, yeah," Allison said, sitting down. She glanced over at the empty chair.

"Are you looking for someone?" Marin asked.

Allison wanted to bite out a retort. Of course she was looking for someone! It wasn't exactly a secret that Allison and Stiles had befriended each other in Eichen House. "Is this everyone?" she asked instead.

Marin paused, as if she was thinking about what reassuring lie she should tell Allison. "Everyone that will be attending this week, yes."

Allison sighed, resigning herself to another fruitless failure. The meeting was only an hour long, but it stretched out due to awkward pauses and lapses into silence as the other PDS sufferers contemplated their answers.

The trio of teenaged sufferers was Isaac Lahey, Erica Reyes, and Vernon Boyd. Isaac had been sixteen when his abusive father had locked him in the freezer for a week during a drunken rage and he'd slowly starved to death and ran out of oxygen. Isaac wasn't sure what had killed him first, but all that mattered was that Mr. Lahey was sentenced to a lifetime imprisonment for murder. Isaac's brother had died in Iraq a couple years earlier and his mother had overdosed when he was a kid so he was essentially homeless. Luckily for him Marin had opened up her home for him until he felt safe enough to live on his own.

Erica's home life was the exact opposite. Her parents had coddled her when she'd been alive due to her epilepsy and now they were even worse since she came back. "It's not like my seizures can kill me a second time," Erica said, rolling her eyes. She'd died when she fell down the stairs and snapped her neck due to said seizure. Apparently Mr. and Mrs. Reyes had been terrified to let her come to the support group and had taken them months to finally agree that it'd be best for their daughter to see other people with her 'condition.'

Boyd was the quiet, stoic guy in their group, so Allison couldn't figure out how he'd managed to die at such a young age. Marin had gently prompted him to relive the memory, where he calmly admitted that he fell through the ice on a frozen lake while trying to save his sister, Alicia. They'd both froze to death and so far Alicia hasn't been found as a rabid nor admitted as a patient at one of the facilities. The Boyd family was still waiting with bated breath for her discovery and treatment.

The woman with the green eyes was Lydia Martin. She wasn't a PDS sufferer and her only excuse for being there was that her 'friend usually attended'. She kept quiet after that, watching the others with a bored look on her face.

"It's your turn, Allison," Marin said. "You heard their stories and now we want to know yours."

"It was nothing spectacular," Allison said. "Death isn't some grand spectacle." She drew in a big breath. "I was shot twice in the stomach and once in the heart during a mugging."

"You got _mugged_?" Erica asked.

Allison resisted the urge to glare at her. She sounded so enthralled by the very idea. "No, it was someone else, but I was there and I wanted to help them. It was this older woman and the mugger was taunting her and it pissed me off so much. Dad put me in self-defense lessons for years and so I just… used the offensive. I managed to get the woman's purse away from him before—"

It was one of the few memories that were still crystal-clear. Allison winced when she recollected the blasts of the gun and the burning pain as the bullets pierced through her. She remembered how the cold, hard pavement felt as her body crumpled and gushed out a thick pool of blood on it. The mugger had run off but the woman had stayed behind to phone 911. It didn't matter at that point; Allison died three minutes before the ambulance finally arrived.

"May I be excused?" Allison asked quietly. She stood up before Marin could say "yes" and was already leaving the room. She felt the eyes of the other members upon her back.

The bathroom was just down the hallway. Allison pushed open the door and allowed it to close behind her. The sinks were filthy, but she didn't care. She turned on the faucet and water gushed out of it, spilling into the sink below. She stared at the water, stared at her dim reflection that showed off the horrible make-up and contacts that constantly irritated her eyes.

Allison had thought that coming to this support group would make things easier, but all it did was remind her how lifeless she was. She'd died and for some reason she and thousands of others had risen from the grave only to cause the apocalypse. She was dead, she was dead, she was dead—

"Ally?"

Allison stilled, clutching the lip of the sink. Her eyes widened, hardly daring to believe it.

The voice from behind her huffed out a weak laugh. "Aw, come on, you didn't forget about me already, did you?"

Allison slowly lifted her head, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. She looked into the mirror's reflection and saw the wild mess of brown hair, the pale skin and off-color grey of his dead eyes.

It was _him_. Stiles was standing right behind her. He gave her a little awkward wave.

Instinct took over, overriding every rational part of her mind and body. Allison swung around and leapt into Stiles's arms, nearly crashing them both into the stall behind him. She snaked her arms around his neck just as he grabbed her around the middle and pulled her close. They pressed against each other, impossibly close, as they hugged fiercely. Allison buried her face in his shoulder. Her entire being trembled with relief.

They stayed like that for minutes, just soaking in the reality of one another. In that moment Allison felt less alone and more whole than she had in a long time. Stiles hugged her tighter against him and at one point Allison heard his breath hitch.

"I missed you," she whispered.

"Me too," Stiles said back. "God, Ally, I missed you so much. You would not believe it."

They reluctantly drew back, now staring at each other. Stiles's face was devoid of the awful make-up that she constantly wore to pacify her parents. Instead there were dark shadows under his eyes, like he hadn't been sleeping for weeks. His hair was greasy from a long absence from shampoo and his clothes were rumpled and loose on his frame.

"I got your stuff," Stiles said. "Dad gave it to me. I was pissed that he didn't invite you over to the house—"

"He was just trying to protect you," Allison interrupted. She was still upset about the Sheriff preventing their reunion, but he had his reasons. "For all he knew I could've been the HVF in disguise."

Stiles looked away when she said that. He looked like he was about to cry. "Let's not talk about _them_ right now. They're causing enough trouble in this town already. I just want to have one good day."

"Me too," Allison agreed. She reached for Stiles's hands and entwined their fingers together. "I've been feeling like a prisoner in my own home and all I could think about was finding you and do all of those things that we promised to do."

"Like what?"

Allison smiled shyly. "Change the world, maybe make more of those ridiculous sweaters. Have that wedding with the flower crowns."

Stiles pressed his forehead against hers. "Are you sure that you want to put up with me for all of eternity?"

Allison laughed softly. "Of course! You're my best friend."

In Eichen House they'd talked for hours about what immortality actually meant for their kind. Eternity was a very real and frightening concept for them; their loved ones would die as they lived on. They could only die if they were killed. Stiles had had a massive panic attack one day; he couldn't comprehend the idea of outliving his father, stepmother and Scott. Stiles's face would always possess an odd sense of wonderment whenever he mentioned his stepbrother. The very thought of his family dead and gone was extremely painful to him.

Allison could never imagine the idea of Chris and Victoria dying. Her mother would be pissed off more than scared at the concept of death while her father would just grin and bear it. Chris might've sold firearms but it was the Sheriff whose life was on the line every day. Stiles's fears were genuine.

"Are you two done in here?"

Startled, Allison and Stiles pulled apart. Standing by the open door was Lydia Martin. She gave out an annoyed sigh. "The meeting's done. Let's get going."

For a moment Allison thought she was talking to her for some reason, but then Stiles nodded. "Yeah, sure. Hey, uh, have you met Ally yet? Ally, this is Ly—"

"We've met," Lydia interrupted. She looked eager to leave and tapped her manicured nails against the doorjamb. "Melissa is going to be worried."

Stiles avoided her gaze, but his hold on Allison's hand tightened. "I'll go reapply that shit to my face then." He turned to Allison and kissed the top of her forehead before loosening his hold on her hand. He carefully walked past Lydia, who silently handed him a small make-up bag.

"You're as bad as my mom," Allison said.

Lydia turned to her. "Hmm?"

Allison felt anger stirring up inside of her. She'd finally reunited with Stiles and now he was being taken away from her once again! "Ordering him around like he's a trained dog. Actually, I'm surprised that he'd allow such a thing." She remembered how he constantly defied Brunski until he was beaten down, again and again.

Lydia crossed her arms, frowning. "The Stiles that you remember from that facility is different from the one that lives here in Beacon Hills."

"What do you mean?"

"You're living a sheltered afterlife, aren't you?" Lydia said. She didn't sound cruel, just tired and wary. Her gaze, however, remained laser-focused. "Your parents are doing the right thing by keeping you safe in your house because the outside world is not as accepting of your kind.

"Stiles's father has to constantly defuse the tension in this town whenever PDS is even mentioned. The Rising started here so it gets _tense_. Stiles can't go waltzing around town without his make-up or a chaperone because it'd get ugly if he did."

"That doesn't explain why Stiles would be different," Allison said. "I don't how he did it, but he was always able to find out what was happening in the outside world while we were being rehabilitated."

Lydia shook her head. "Not everything," she said quietly. "Look, he's putting on a brave face because you're here, but there are some things going on right now that he's still struggling to deal with. So just back off before you overwhelm him."

"If Stiles needs time," Allison began impatiently, "then I'll give it to him. But it's been over four months since I've seen him and we promised that we'd stick together once we got out. I'm not going to throw that away just because you said so."

"I never said you had to do that," Lydia said, huffing a little.

"Who are you anyway?" Allison asked. She had to know why this woman had so much authority in Stiles's life. "What's your relationship with him?"

Lydia rolled her eyes. "We went to the same high school before he died. After that I became friends with his stepbrother. Scott asked me to look out for Stiles, that's all."

She was holding something back, Allison could tell. She wasn't about to antagonize the woman, not while she was in charge of Stiles's safety at the moment.

"I see you two are being acquainted," said Stiles. He was back, his face now covered with a thick layer of the concealer. His eyes had gone from gray to brown with the aid of the stupid contacts. His posture was stiffer and his gaze was averted as he stared at the ground.

"We were just finishing up our conversation. Let's go now," Lydia said.

"Wait," Stiles said. Lydia made a noise of irritation. "Let me just—" He sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "Can we have a minute alone?"

Lydia rolled her eyes once again, but silently complied. She walked out of the bathroom and the door swung shut. Stiles watched it for a brief moment before walking back up to Allison, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Not the reunion that you were expecting, huh?" he said. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. It crushed Allison, seeing him like this. How ironic; Stiles had seemed happier when they'd been locked up in Eichen House.

"Hey, it's alright," Allison reassured him. She cupped his cheek with her hand. "It's not like it's been a picnic for any of us, right?"

Stiles nodded, leaning into her touch. "Hey, can I tell you something?"

"Anything."

Stiles closed his eyes. "I hate the support group. Melissa—my stepmom—insisted that I go to it, so that I could meet others that where going through the same thing as me. But it's not the same. All of them died by accident, or were trying to save someone or got murdered."

"I died trying to save someone," Allison said. "We bonded pretty well."

"It's not the _same_," Stiles insisted. "It doesn't feel right when I have to talk to Marin and the others about all of this shit. I'm alive when I should be dead and the people that _should_ be alive are…" His voice trailed away. He looked like he was about to cry. Allison pulled him close, hugging him with all of her might.

Something terrible had happened during their separation. Allison just knew it. "Shh, it's okay," she said. Stiles shuddered against her, his shoulders slumping slightly. They drew apart once more.

"Tell you what," Allison said. "I'll keep coming to these meetings as long as you do. That way neither of us has to suffer alone. We'll do that until we can figure out a safer place to hang out."

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, sounds good." He looked towards the door. "I better get going before Lydia gets mad."

"She seems very demanding," Allison noted.

Stiles laughed weakly. "She takes some time getting used to, but once you warm up to her she's actually a lot of fun to be around."

Allison raised an eyebrow. "Uh huh."

"You'll fall in love with her bossiness," Stiles said with a wink. "Seriously, you will."


End file.
